


Whispering Stars

by GalekhXigisi



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Ableism, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Quirks (My Hero Academia), Anxiety | Virgil Sanders is a Little Shit, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Menstruation, Multi, Trans Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Trans Character, Trans Male Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Virgil is also a stripper tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-03 21:30:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20459777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: Virgil, an assumed "powerless" by many, takes his life to his loves, making his way through it all with his own repressed secrets.





	1. Chapter 1

The door to the apartment opens loudly, the door slowly shutting, completely silent. Logan turns from where he was typing notes, the holographic computer disappearing within an instant as he heard the door. It as the telltale sound of Virgil, his soft grumbles not going ignored as Logan stood, making his way to the other. 

Virgil looked about ready to sob, his eyes filled with tears and makeup smudged, which wasn’t exactly the most  _ uncommon _ thing, given that he usually worked double shifts and his coworkers were far from kind to him, as well as the customers. He gives a soft sniffle as Logan moves to help him take off the binder that knowingly was strained after so many hours of having it. It was a nightly routine now. 

“Do you want to talk about it,” Logan asks, ignoring how close they are, ignoring the blush on his cheeks. This was no time for him to get all flustered when Virgil was so upset. 

The man shakes his head, sniffling as he wipes his face. “No, not tonight,” he whimpers, frantically wiping at his cheeks. He sniffles, the knowing noises of a sob about to come on. “J-J-Just need a shower.” 

“A shower,” Logan reiterates, confused. Virgil didn’t usually shower as soon as he got home. He usually waited a few hours, waiting for his chest to stop hurting and the redness to flare down. He examines the other, eyes scanning over him before taking note of the fact that his jacket was wrapped around his waist.  _ “Oh,” _ he dumbly realizes. “My apologies, Virgil.” 

“S’nothing you can do about it. I have tomorrow off, so, I should be okay, but the rest of the week is all doubles.” He sighs softly wiping his face with the back of his hand, just barely avoiding letting the tears fall. “Where are Pat and Ro?” 

“They’re asleep in Romans’ room. They fell asleep watching Disney movies together.” 

Virgil nods, sniffling again. “I know this sounds stupid, Lo, but… Can you sit in the bathroom with me while I shower? I just… I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

Logan nods, understanding what the other means. “Of course, Virgil.” He wasn’t busy, just getting a few things written down as notes for class tomorrow. It didn’t matter. “Just let me put my papers up and I’ll be in there. Would you like some tea or coffee?” 

“Tea, please? Coffee wouldn’t be good right now.” 

Logan nods, quick and smooth as the other walks away, making his way to the bathroom. The world became calm as Virgil ran the shower water and Logan brewed the tea, papers stacked away in their respective spot. They were calm, surrounded by an atmosphere that seemed far more relaxed than they really were. By the time Logan walks into the bathroom, the taller was already in the shower, lights turned off with his clothes discarded, wet from cold water ran over them. 

“Would you lie your tea now, Virgil, or would you rather wait?” 

“Let me rinse my hair first, please?” 

“Of course.” 

The two fall into silence, so perfectly synced up that they didn’t actually have to say anything. The entire shower seemingly followed the same pattern, as well as when Virgil had to get dressed, all the way up until Virgil laid on his bed, coiled against Logans’ side, the two pressed together. Unlike Roman (and Patton, unfortunately), neither of the men were hot boxes, natural heaters. They were cold, heat so limited despite their large heigh. They curled beneath Virgils’ pile of blankets, multiple pillows stocked around them. 

Tears slowly fall, collecting on Logans’ chest, though neither make a comment outside of Virgils’ sniffles and Logan petting his still-wet hair. They had never discussed the lines of their friendship, never secured with each other what was and wasn’t too much. They learned as they went, always had. They weren’t like Roman and Patton, who had laid ground rules the instant they became friends, adjusting as they went. Their friendship was just countless unspoken lines and mutual respect. Some nights were littered with soft  _ Don’t touch me’s _ while others were filled with moaned _ Don’t stop touching me’s. _ They learned as they went and set boundaries when needed, which really  _ wasn’t often. _

Right now, Virgil doesn’t want to be alone and Logan understands it, lips pressed softly to the others’ scalp and forehead, so gentle with the movements and giving Virgil far more than just enough time to tell him to stop or to pull away, Eventually Virgil reciprocates a singular kiss, so gentle and full of emotion, a silent  _ thank you _ for assistance with the night. But soon, one kiss turns to many and the night melts into unspoken words and gentle touches, comforting and quiet beneath the whispers of sparkling stars. 


	2. Chapter 2

Patton sighs as he stands up, stretching with a soft yawn. His back pops as he moves. Patton had always been a morning person, both when he was a child and through adulthood. His mothers had been rather confused as to why their seven-year-old was up at the asscrack of dawn every morning, watching the news and reporting the weather to the women every morning as well as the previous days’ worst events. To say the least, they had switched the settings so that Patton couldn’t change the settings until  _ after _ one of them put the passcode in. 

He usually makes breakfast for everyone, though today seems to be different because Virgil is standing at the stove, looking drained as can be but cooking nonetheless. He yawns, flipping the pancakes with a trained wrist, eyes shut as he does so. It wasn’t abnormal for him to cook with eyes shut. He had trained his entire life to move without making a sound or needing light. It was honestly amazing to watch but also made Patton sure to never question the mans’ upbringing, no matter how much he wanted to. He knew better than that, after all, remembering the night Virgil had fled to the house of three in a desperate search for  _ anywhere _ to go, never giving details or specifics. 

“Good morning,” Patton whispers, quiet as can be. He’s sure to be quiet, to let Virgil know he’s there before doing anything. The last time he had accidentally spooked the kiddo, Virgil had burst into sobs right then and there, which Patton had never asked about, either. 

Stormy eyes pop open, looking at Patton with that soft expression Patton only gets from him, Roman, and Logan. He absolutely  _ adores _ it, smiling widely as the bi-colored eyes turn towards the pancakes, efficiently flipping them. “Morning, Pat,” he supplies, smiling down, “How’d you sleep?” 

“Pretty good, actually! Roman is super warm!” he supplies as he sits down at the table, turned more towards Virgil than the actual table itself. “What about you, kiddo? I know you took a double last night.” 

Virgil tenses up, muscled shoulders pulled taut beneath the tank top, a tight sports bra there to replace his binder. It was a silent tell that Virgil was far from okay, that something had happened the night before. He only cooked on mornings that he was off from work, adorned with a makeshift binder when bad happened, usually when his dysphoria threatened to swallow him whole. He softly hums, smile falling. “Wasn’t the best. Sort of had blood all over me at the beginning of the shift without any supplies on hand.” 

Pattons’ expression shift from a gentle calm to an  _ “O” _ as he realized that it was an explanation for everything without actually saying it. Instead, Patton asks, “Did you sleep at all?” 

“Just a few hours, four at the very most, two and a half at least.” 

“So probably two and a half?” 

Virgil seems to relax at the gentle comeback, nothing more than kind teasing between the two, though they both know its true. “Yeah. I stayed up with Logan for a while, too. He already went to work, though.” 

“This early?” 

“That’s what I asked.” Virgil scoffs, soft as he puts more pancakes on the already towering plate of fluffy goodness. Only then did Patton notice the array of chopped fruit beside it, sat out in bowls with each fruits’ color. “Would you be able to wake up Roman while I finish off the rest of the batter?” 

“Of course, Vee!” The man stands, quick to move at his request. 

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Breakfast stayed relatively silently, Roman and Virgil both tired and Patton feeling no need to interrupt it outside of compliments to Virgils’ cooking, at which the man blushed and ducked his head. Roman, though, was quick to suggest a Disney movie marathon at seeing Virgils’ down mood. He frowns, not making a comment, just migrating to the couch before leaning on the two men. 

Roman presses his hands to the lower half of Virgils’ back, creating warmth from his palms. Everyone knew his little powers, making anything he knew how to with little restrictions. Heat was a special little trick he had learned, though his twin had the ability to make water and cool things off, unlike Roman, who had fire and heat. Virgil presses against the touch, a soft whimper leaving his mouth. 

“S’this alright,” Roman asks, voice low and calm. 

Virgil nods, keening as he pulls both men close, absolutely  _ adoring _ the warmth they both give off. “Yeah, Ro, you’re good,” he mumbles, eyes shut, relaxed against the touch. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Wonderfully, of course,” the “royal” scoffs passively, “And you two dears?” 

“I slept great,” Patton announces with a smile. 

Virgil gives his own passive little smile, the action more of a half-smirk. “Didn’t sleep much.” 

“Why not?” 

“Yesterday was bad, s’just couldn’t go more than a few hours without tossing and turning. I woke up hurting, didn’t think I could go back to sleep, so I got up and all that.” He brings his feet up to his chest, thankful for the warmth he gets at being enveloped between the two men, heaving out a content sigh that honestly seemed far more similar to a purr than they wanted to let on, both men already knowing better than to comment on the feline-like habits from their roommate-lover-whatever. None of them had ever  _ actually _ discussed their dynamic, nor do they want to actually do so, scared that they would ruin something within it. 

Roman pressed play on Mulan with a curt nod, understanding the other. “That’s okay. Do you work tomorrow?” 

“And the rest of the week, actually, all doubles,” Virgil sighs, face contorting into a frown. 

Patton frowns as he presses a gentle kiss to the others’ forehead. “They’re working you to the bone, kiddo.” 

“I know, but it at least gives me something to do. They pay a lot more than my last job, so, it’s fine.” 

Patton nods, knowing better than to fight Virgil over this. He hums and focuses on the movie, though Roman seems to be just as shifty as the other. Virgil brought home the most money out of all of them, even including Logan, their lovely roommate-lover- _ whatever _ of whom was a professor at the local college. They weren’t going to tell him to quit, but they knew the mental strain was rather harsh. He had to get somewhere, didn’t he?

“You should come and see a show sometime, though,” Virgil mumbles with a smirk once they get to seeing Mulan cut her hair with the sword. Blushes rise on their cheeks as they half-heartedly keep track of the time, Patton had to work soon and Roman having until eleven until he has to leave. 

Patton was more than just a tad bit reluctant to leave, whining softly as he passed gentle kisses between the two currently wrapped around each other, Cinderella forgotten in the background as their quick makeout session faded when Pattons’ phone rang with his alarm, blaring the reminder at him with an angry prominence that couldn’t dare go messed with. Patton was beyond just apologetic, which Virgil finally gave him a dismissive, “It’s really okay, Pat.” Patton didn’t want to admit how much that small bit of reassurance went, leaving with a calm smile. 

Virgil pulled a blanket around himself and Roman, not so much paying attention to the television as he was Roman, who was ranting about the movie, explaining certain little details to Virgil with a gleam in his eyes, excited about being able to share this information. The taller had heard it a million times before, but he didn’t mind listening to it again, watching Roman light up and talk with his hands as well as his mouth, telling an entire tale with every little gesture. Virgil absolutely  _ adored _ it, only stopping him to press their lips together. 

“You know, Ro, you’re really cute when you talk about Disney movies, right?” 

Roman blushes, face creeping up with red. “I’m cute  _ all _ the time,” Roman claims within an instant, ignoring how flustered he was by changing the focus. 

“But I mean  _ really _ cute,” Virgi whispers in his eyes, pulling away to let half-lidded eyes examine Roman, who seemed to be even redder than he had earlier. Virgil can’t help the excited little smile he blossoms with. “So, anyway, what do you want for lunch, Princey?” 

“At the moment?” Virgil nods. “You.” 

The taller snorts at the response. “No, seriously, you  _ do _ have to leave soon.” 

Roman heaves out a sigh as Virgil disconnects, standing up and popping his back with uneven little movements, the rest of his body following in tow with the crackling. It’s honestly impressive how easily he pops his joints, even managing to pop his jaw  _ somehow. _


	4. Chapter 4

Virgil frowns as silence fills the home. It’s deathly quiet not that Roman is gone, leaving later than he normally would, not that he would admit that to Roman. Virgil sits down on the couch, halfheartedly flipping through the channels. It’s not like there wasn’t a lot to do in the home, because there really always  _ was. _ With four tenets living there, of fucking  _ course _ there always was. However, nothing seemed to interest Virgil at the moment. Scrolling through Netflix was deemed just as pointless, not actually doing much to capture his attention as Voltron played in the background. Virgil was  _ bored. _

The annoyance that comes with watching the last few seasons for the hundredth time doesn’t aid in quenching his want to have  _ some _ form of entertainment. YouTube proves to only be fun for watching people show off their powers and listening to music. Damn those with siren-like voices, lulling Virgil into tuning in, singing half-heartedly to the tune.

Virgil wasn’t powerless, no. He had powers, but there came a consistent choice not to use his powers. He could kill armies within a singular thought pushed to the truth, could take away millions of powers without caring, could do infinite different things and yet… Virgil chose to be a fucking stripper. 

He didn’t have a problem with his job. He was hot enough, apparently. People liked muscle, apparently, as well as white hair that didn’t show on his body unless pointed out. Really, Virgil didn’t think he ever would have made it as a stripper. It was just a job that got him lots of money after he had moved out, but it quickly proved that he could make a full career out of it, could get the audience stirred up. He did, however, have the strict rule that there was no touching unless they were passing off money, which seemed to be the only rule ever respected around that place, for the most part. 

Virgil stands up, moving to stand in front of the mirror. He didn’t do this commonly, no, because it always made his stomach churn unhappily as he examined his body. Thankfully, though, the telltale voice of  _ The Siren _ had lulled him into a mostly feelingless haze. His clothes were mostly slipped away, leaving the too-tight sports bra and boxers. 

He wasn’t the thinnest, no, only had been when he was young. He was plumper, with a larger stomach and faded stretch marks around his entire body. His thighs and hips were wide but stretched with muscle, the same for his calves. He was six-foot-five, making him a  _ “full unit”, _ as some had called him before. His shoulders were pointed, the same with his back, every single muscle defined as he shifted to the side, able to see his entire back from the singular twist. 

His face was sharp now, thanks to months of medication designed specifically for this sort of thing. He couldn’t take any form of hormones, which had been horrid on him. After so many years of trying and coming up with worse and worse results each time, he had settled on a medication that sharpened his features and deepened his voice, a thing he was thankful for now. 

His chest was bigger, unfortunately, but when he was binding, it was easily excusable, blamed on muscles. He looked so much like his own parents, practically a duplicate on his mothers’ muscle and fathers’ height. Roman had joked time and time, _ Maybe you’re just our Bucky, huh? Mister Super Soldier, _ he had always laughed. Virgil always ignored the way he got flustered at the offhanded compliment. 

He sighs, slow and even as his eyes moved to his hair. He couldn’t remember what his mother had always called his hair. Was it 4c or 4b? He didn’t know, but he did know that the white strands were far different from his fathers’, whose hair was straight as could be.  _ Remy _ got more of his fathers’ genes, the shorter brother currently  _ Gods know where, _ probably out at work or at the local coffee shop. Virgil loved his brother, he really  _ did, _ but his brother had really gotten the best of both worlds. The only thing close enough to be compared to Virgil and seen as a  _ similarity _ was the bright blue eyes that he held beneath sunglasses. 

Virgil stopped wearing sunglasses most of the time. His roommates kept the house dimly lit more often than not, even keeping it cool. It was endearing when they found out what was and wasn’t a trigger for him, accommodating easily. Roman kept the lights off, Patton kept the heat down, and Logan made sure than any loud noises were followed by reassurances to the albino young man. 

His eyes were always shockingly pale, just like the rest of his  _ everything. _ With the varying green-blue-purple- _ whatever color they were, _ there was always that lightning look to them, always different colors. He had found that his left eye was paler than the right, even when they were occasionally the same color. He couldn’t describe how in the fuck they changed or how in the fuck he had managed to get through life without ever constantly knowing his eye color like his friends did. Instead, he just learned to wear sunglasses when he went outside during the day  _ (which was honestly rare, not that he’d ‘fess it up) _ and took genetic mutation after genetic mutation. 

He remembered the first time he was asked why he was white and his family wasn’t. He remembered years of teasing and bullying  _ (which he still argued were two  _ ** _very_ ** _ different things, not that the school counselor knew that). _ He remembered the first time he had broken his arm because  _ freaks are fucking disgusting. _ He remembered somehow facing racism and watching as his family got weird looks and he didn’t. He remembered the horrid way his family had grown, the way they had turned bitter to the point that Virgil only stuck around Remy and Remy alone, not having visited his parents since he was kicked out. 

_ “How can you know what racism is if you’re white  _ ** _and_ ** _ just a kid,” _ was still a question that made him laugh, even all these years later when he was grown and it stopped coming up. He could pull up his pants and look at the patches of darker skin that matched his mothers’ on his legs and halfheartedly on his arms. 

_ “Because I’m really not, dude,” _ he would reply, pulling his twin brother into the mix, who had patchy splotches of white along his stomach and arms. That’s how he had met Deceit, how he had befriended the man with vitiligo skin that seemed to be the opposite of his own. 

He doesn’t claim that he really has experienced racism, no, because he had seen what Remy and his mother looked like when they got home before. He had seen his father come home with concussions. He had seen Remys’ locker and whatever else went on in their lives. The peacekeeper was always in the middle of everything, no matter what. It was, unfortunately,  _ his job. _

He pulls away from the mirror and flips the song, tired of listening to  _ The Sirens’ _ voice ring through the home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: No one is actually caucasian   
Everyone: :O

**Author's Note:**

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